


The Bump and Grime

by readithoney



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Construction Workers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readithoney/pseuds/readithoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Construction worker Jorian. Pure cheese with two sets of dirty, calloused hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Bump and Grime**

John Kennex stuck an arm out from under his blankets and silenced the noisy alarm clock that perched on the orange barrel he used as a night stand. "I'm up, I'm up," he said groggily to himself, rubbing at the sand from his right eye with two calloused fingers. His feet found the floor and he staggered to the shower.

There was stillness to the deep silence of the wee hours of the morning. Every noise he made, from the running water to the metal click of the toaster, seemed to cut through the air and disturb the peace of the resting world. He pulled on a white undershirt and picked the dungarees he wore yesterday up off the floor, yanking them up around his hips. They left a dusting of red clay where they had been laying.

He shrugged into a bright orange vest, grabbed his strung earplugs, and draped them over his neck. He picked up the keys to his truck, his thermos of coffee, his lunch pail, and carried the last piece of toast in his teeth as he made his way out to his driveway. It was just chilly enough that he shrugged into his flannel shirt he'd left in the car from yesterday. The neighborhood was quiet and pitch-black as he pulled out, conscientiously leaving his radio off until he was on the main roads.

Once he was on his way he drummed on the steering wheel and crooned along to  _Radar Love_ while making short work of his breakfast. It was still dark when he rolled up into the parking area next to the foreman's trailer, a cloud of dust kicking up around his wheels as he backed into a space. He climbed out of the truck and stretched and walked over to the crew members who had already arrived.

They were repaving a six mile stretch of highway on the 606, and it was going to take months to complete. They did one lane at a time and it was important to get the markers and cones in place for today's section before the morning traffic rush. John cradled his coffee in his hands and took a bitter, warming swig, feeling the dewy morning in his bones as he rotated his shoulders back and stretched his neck. "Mornin'."

"Kennex," the foreman said, looking up over a filthy, rumpled clip board, "I got a new guy in today. Gonna put you both on tamping so you can show 'em the ropes."

John ran a hand back through his hair. "Put him on the sign, Max," John suggested, not wanting to drag some babyface around all day. Inevitably, his voice would by hoarse by lunchtime from shouting over the machines and correcting the newbie. And tamping the ground and the concrete was hard work. The kid might not be able to handle it.

"There he is," Max said, ignoring John's suggestion and pointing to where a truck pulled up, tires crunching against the gravel. The first hint of light was washing the sky, turning it pink and purple on the horizon. The man who climbed out of the truck was no babyfaced kid. He was a grown-ass man, with a well-defined jawline, broad shoulders, and skin the color of gingerbread. That smile on his face made John rub his toes into the soles of his steel-toed boots.

"Hey," he said to the crew.

Some of the men nodded in his direction or waved a hand with all the enthusiasm of flicking a cigarette. John found himself staring. Usually the "new guy" was a lanky, mealy kid with rosacea cheeks, low self-confidence, a flagging work ethic, and the skillset of a toddler. When this man approached the harsh lights of the trailer, John saw blue eyes the color of a perfect sky and lips that looked ripe for plunder.

"Kennex," John said, poking a hand out in front of him and accepting a sturdy shake. "You'll be working with me today."

"Dorian," he said, his voice soft and refreshing, nothing like the croaking group of old men hacking-up a storm behind them.

While working the road team, laborers took the small orange trucks which were easier to see along the highway. John signed one out, talking Dorian through the process. "Make sure you write the key number by your name or Max'll chew you out," he said, showing Dorian how he filled the form out.

"I see," Dorian said, inspecting the paper and committing the procedure to memory.

He looked John Kennex up and down in his peripheral vision. He didn't want to stare but the tall man with dark, thick eyebrows, and two days of chin stubble on his tan face made him stir with excitement. He couldn't help but notice the way his shoulders flexed back in his flannel, or his messy hair that was still damp from the shower but managed to look perfect, or the way those worn-out jeans hugged the undercurve of his ass. Dorian shook his head and pinned his tongue in his back teeth painfully, bringing himself back to reality and banishing the increasingly filthy thoughts.

John patted his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, secretly assessing the muscle beneath. "Let's roll," he said, "Grab your lunch."

Dorian was a quick learner, though he wasn't new to hard, hot work. Most new laborers would cough and sputter through the first two solid weeks. The hot, heavy asphalt smelled like melted plastic and the tar spread like butter under the churning machinery. The diesel exhaust, black and bitter, heaving from the rigs, assaulted the lungs. The traffic roaring by, never slow enough, kicked up fine particles. Even for the veterans, the air in the middle of the site could feel like a hot hand gripped tight around the throat.

Dorian took it all in stride, sweat beading along his hairline as he tamped with John, packing the asphalt tight and smoothing the edges down. The machine sent waves of pain up their wrists and arms, numbed their fingers, and packed the Earth down thick with each pass of the stamp. It was too loud to talk, so instead they worked.

John's eyes darted over to the new guy ten times every minute. When Dorian would turn his back, John would stare at his globular ass, his thick, taut thighs, and the ripple of his back.

Dorian felt his gaze and made purposeful movements. He telegraphed his interest to his co-worker with subtle gestures. Whether John picked up on them or not was a mystery.

At lunch, they sat inside the truck and unpacked their sandwiches. John's throat felt fine. They hadn't needed to say much throughout the morning. With Dorian catching on quick and the ear-beating noise all around them, they'd stayed silent for the most part. Blasting the air conditioner and escaping the sun, both men let their muscles unwind against the filthy seats.

"Where you from, Dee" John asked once he felt cooled off enough to consider himself human again. "New to town?"

Dorian smiled out the side of his mouth at the nickname. "Yeah," his head dipped in agreement and he cut his teeth into the side of an apple and chewed it, "Had to get a different scene, ya know?"

John nodded, sensing that it wasn't a topic for discussion. This made him want to know even more, but he backed off. He mopped his brow with the bottom hem of his shirt, giving Dorian a glimpse of his stomach and chest. "Where you living?"

"Got an apartment on the skirts, monthly basis," Dorian said, "Until I can find something better. This job ought to help."

"I'd be happy to show you around the city," John offered, "Sucks being new in town."

"Hey, thanks man."

John nodded and ate, looking out the window. Dorian finished his apple, abhorring the awkward silence. Several ice breakers made it almost to his lips but died on his nervous tongue.

The second half of their shift went faster. They took frequent breaks and finally breached the silence, finding comfortable conversation to shout over the roar of the machines.

After their shift ended and they turned the truck keys in, John leaned on his car door and whistled at Dorian's ride. It was newer and nicer. "Great wheels," he said. Dorian nodded in acknowledgement. "Follow me," John instructed, "I'll buy you a beer or two."

At the bar, a twangy country song playing out of the jukebox, they perched on stools and tossed a few back. They both smelled like dirt and exhaust and sweat. But Dorian noticed a sweet smell on John when he gestured or moved quickly, a warm, comforting smell that floated past his nostrils and made him lose track of the time.

They left the bar just as the dinner crowd was ambling in, each man heading for their truck. John opened his door to climb in then steeled himself and shut it again. He walked over to Dorian who was just rolling his engine on and tapped at the window.

When Dorian rolled the window down, John leaned in with his elbows. "Come have a pizza with me?" John asked, "My place?" He waited cautiously, but he was pretty certain he was reading the signs right from this guy. He figured he could take a chance.

"Lead the way," Dorian said, his smile flanked in deep, curved dimples.

John swung into his truck and drove home with Dorian in his rearview, singing along to a song. With a nervous ache in his belly, he parked in the driveway of his home and lead them in through the garage.

Maybe it was beer in his belly, or the comfort of another voice in his tiny ranch house, or the long stretch of loneliness he'd been nursing, or a combination of all three, but John felt comfortable enough to place a hand on Dorian's chest and feel the warmth through his shirt.

Dorian put his hand over the top of John's. "I want to take it slow," he said, but left his hand there, his thumb moving against John's softly.

"But you're interested?" John needed to know for sure. He didn't want to play guessing games in his head.

Dorian brushed forward and placed a quick, chaste kiss on John's dirt-smudged cheek. They both felt a warm glow on their skin from the day's worth of sun and a grubby layer of grime. "Course," he reassured, "Can we order though? I'm starving."

John nodded, picking up the phone. He felt a flush of life pulse through his veins; a break in the monotony.

Dorian washed his hands in the kitchen sink and then leaned against the counter while John ordered the pizza. John pulled him a beer out of the fridge and popped the top off against the counter while rattling off toppings into the phone, the lid skittering off across the kitchen floor. He handed it over to his new friend with a happy smile, saying into the receiver, "Oh, and extra cheese."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Bump and Grime: Chapter 2**

John couldn't help himself. It was only nine o'clock and as he got up to put the empty pizza box in the trash, a long yawn forced its way out of his jaw.

Dorian got up too, collecting empty beer bottle necks between his fingers and carrying them to the kitchen. They'd been chatting on the couch for a few hours with the game on in the background but he was feeling the aftermath of his early rise and the brutal day's work.

"I think I'll head out," Dorian said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

John looked at the bottles Dorian had set down and then out to the living room. There were more cluttering the coffee table. "I don't think I can let you drive home like this," he said.

"M'fine," Dorian assured, waving his hand off like it was nothing. "Tired. We got another early morning and I got to get to bed or I'll be useless."

Nodding in agreement, John looked up, his hazel eyes sweeping the kitchen as he thought. "Still, you can't drive. We shouldn't have had so many." He looked at Dorian seriously. "I'll get you something to wear and a blanket for the couch."

Dorian stood up and felt himself wobble. Maybe it was for the best. "Okay," he conceded, "Sorry, man."

John couldn't fathom why Dorian was apologizing, so he played it off as a joke. "Maybe it was all in my evil plan to keep you here!" he said, forcing a laugh and walking off to get some clean pajamas and towels. In his bedroom, he slapped himself on the forehead and groaned.  _Why in the great, vast pit of fucking hell would I say that?_ A headache throbbed behind his eyes. They would both pay for this overindulgence in the morning.

He dug a pair of cotton pants and a soft t-shirt out of his dresser drawer, grabbed a clean roll of socks and two towels and came back out to the kitchen, half expecting to find Dorian gone. Instead, he was rinsing the beer bottles out and stacking them near the sink to dry. "I assume you recycle," he said.

John nodded through the lie. "Thanks, you don't have to do that though. I'll get it." He handed Dorian the clothing and towels and walked him to the master bathroom. He winced as they approached, wishing he had thought to do a clean sweep. He barreled in first, scooping towels up off the floor and grabbing a dirty magazine up off the back of the toilet, stuffing it under the towels in his arms.

Dorian smiled and waited, his eyebrows arching up.

"I'm gonna do a load of laundry," John said, feeling the flush on his cheeks, blaming the beer, "toss your clothes outside the door and I'll put yours in, too. And, let me see here," he shifted the armload of dirty towels to open a small drawer in the vanity and sifted through the junk in the drawer to pull out a toothbrush. It was in a plastic bag and had the name of a dentist printed on the side. As Dorian took it from him, the magazine slipped out from under the wad in John's arms and fell open onto the tile floor.

They both looked down and saw a picture of a muscular cowboy in nothing but a hat and boots, looking confident and posing with his legs apart, an impossibly large cock proudly on display. Dorian quickly bent down and picked up the magazine and rolled it, sticking it into his back pocket. John pressed his face into the dirty towels.

"Hey," Dorian said, staying John's departure. He put his hand along the side of the embarrassed man's face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "S'okay," he smiled, "I'll shower quick so you can get in next. Thanks for the toothbrush."

John relaxed a little, "Toss your clothes out first so I can get the washer running," he smiled gratefully at Dorian. They stood there a second, John's arms impossibly full, and laughed about the strange turn in events. Their heads swimming from beer and exhaustion.

John left the bathroom and Dorian shut the door most of the way and tossed his dirty clothes on the other side one piece at a time. Shirt and undershirt first, then his pants. John watched without trying to watch, chewing his lip as a pair of hunter green boxer briefs were followed by two white socks. Dorian closed the door all the way and John scooped up the clothes and carried them to the laundry room, dumping them in the washer which was already half-full.

He heard the shower water start and figured he had time to shuck his current outfit. He peeled out of his shirt and unbuckled his belt, draping it over his shoulder. He pushed his pants off and stepped out of them, tossing them in after checking the pockets. He ripped his socks off each foot and stood there in his underwear, adding soap. He set the load to heavy duty wash and let the lid slam shut.

The shower was still running so he looked around and peeled off his underwear, tossing that in too and rushed to the bedroom to find the robe he'd received as a Christmas gift and had only worn one time when he had the flu last winter.

Remembering he had to make the couch up into a bed, John grabbed the extra sheets and blankets out of his closet and carried them to the living room. He made the couch up as nice as possible and pulled a pillow off his own bed and changed the case before adding it to the sofa. Then he cleared up all the clutter from the coffee table and wondered if he ought to run the vacuum. He was sweating from the little bit of exertion and realized he was too drunk to care about the carpet. His skin felt grimey still; he usually took a shower right when he got home from work but he hadn't been able to today.

The door to the bathroom opened and John straightened the robe out and cinched the waist tighter. Dorian came out in the borrowed pajamas and John motioned to the couch. "Sleep tight, Dee," John said, running a hand through his own, oily hair drowsily.

"You too," Dorian said, lifting the blankets and sliding down on the couch so his head rested on the pillow. His eyes were dropping fast but he propped himself up on his arms a little and said, "Hey John," stopping the other man before he could leave the room, "Thanks. For," he squished his face, thinking, "the pajamas. And toothbrush. The beer. Conversation." The list was disorganized, skirting the awkwardness of situation.

John nodded and gave Dorian's foot a light squeeze from where it stuck out over the arm of the couch. "I'm glad you're here," John said, hitting the light in the hall on his way to the bedroom to shower.

John showered the dust and sweat out of his hair, working a bar of soap up over his chest and body. He thought of Dorian on his couch. It had been a few years since he was in a relationship and though he'd known the man for less than a whole day, his hopes hadn't been this high in a good long while. The man on his couch was kind, good-looking, he recycled, he was a hard worker, his lips were plush and his eyes were expressive. John leaned his side into the shower wall, his soapy hand seizing his erection and tugging feverishly. He bit his lip to silence his shuddering release.

As he climbed up into the bed, John remembered with a groan that he needed to move the clothing from the washer to the dryer. He tiptoed out to the laundry room, stopping to listen. Dorian's soft snoring elicited a happy flutter in his chest. He moved their clothes into the dryer, enjoying how their jeans mingled, and set the machine. Finally, he was able to hit the pillow and he was out before he could even drum up a fantasy.

John woke to the sound of his phone. The touch screen light brightened the ceiling and he fumbled to slide his thumb across. He answered groggily.

Max was on the line, "No work today, Kennex," his voice curt and rushed. He had a lot of men to call.

"Why?" Jon asked, still half-asleep, rubbing at his face. The headache behind his eye was still pulsing irritatingly. Max had already hung up. "Jerk," John muttered, tossing his phone down on the bed. A low, heavy rumble of thunder broke overhead, shaking the roof. Now, as he woke more, he could hear the beating rain against the windows. A sleepy but wide smile cracked across his face. He slipped out of bed and out to the kitchen. Dorian was on the phone with Max from his spot on the couch.

John got himself a glass of water from the tap and chugged it. He refilled the glass and pulled another out of the cupboard and brought it to Dorian. "It's really coming down," he said.

Dorian took the water gratefully and sat up on the couch with a groan. He pulled one shoulder up to his ear to stretch it and squeezed at the muscle. He drank from the glass and set it on the coffee table and placed his arms behind him, pressing at his lower back. "I should get out of your hair and let you catch up on your sleep."

John's face fell. "Nah, stay," he offered. "We'll sleep in and I'll make breakfast."

Dorian smiled up at him in the dim light. it was only three in the morning but John's eyes looked bright in the glow coming from the kitchen. "Okay," he said, needing almost no arm-twisting.

John watched him settle back into the couch that was just a little too short for his tall frame. He shook his head. "C'mon Dee," he said, beckoning him up. "This is stupid. We're both adults. You worked the tamper for hours yesterday and now you are sleeping crunched up on this couch." He prodded at Dorian's shoulder. "Come get in my bed. We'll stay on our own sides. Your back will thank you."

A sigh from Dorian made John hold his breath in waiting. Finally, gathering his pillow up, Dorian nodded, "Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'll try not to snore," John said, walking to the bedroom to straighten up the sheets.

He got in bed and Dorian came in and got in on the other side, a soft groan of happiness escaping his throat as he sank against the mattress and stretched himself out properly.

John turned off his alarm clock and turned in the bed, reminding himself not to move too much or to say anything awkward.

The thunder boomed again overhead. "I love thunderstorms," Dorian's gentle voice injected into the still air between them. They both lay like statues in the sheets.

"I love them even more when they get me a day off work," John said, pinching at his forehead, begging his head to stop aching so he could enjoy this moment.

He nearly startled at the warm hand on the top of his head, fingers tangled in his hair. "You have a headache," the clucking of his tongue was nearby and informed John that Dorian had scooched closer.

"It's just tension," John said, hating himself for alerting Dorian to his ailment.

John felt the hand leave his hair and his body sagged at the lost touch. Dorian sat up in the dark of the bed and put his hand on John's shoulder lightly. "Sit up."

John sat up and Dorian guided him to turn and pulled him a little closer. He ran large, warm hands up John's back, his fingers pressing hard into his shoulder blades. He squeezed his shoulders and cascaded fingernails down his back softly. John moaned at the expert massage, feeling himself relax into the other man's touch. When Dorian's thumbs worked circles into the back of his neck, he felt his headache melt away.

"Mmmm, Dee," John said, his head dropped forward, "Thank you."

Dorian's hand's stopped massaging but stayed on his shoulders, drawing him back slightly. John allowed himself to be directed. He grew still as he felt a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. Then the painful absence as the hands left his shoulders and he felt Dorian lie back down in the bed.

Turning to lie down too, John was surprised to feel Dorian's arm behind his neck. "I know you said we'd stay on our own sides," he trailed off. More thunder above them.

John turned his head up to give Dorian a kiss, opening his lips as a cue and delighting in Dorian's yielding response. John invaded Dorian's mouth with his tongue, plunging in and grunting in happy surprise as Dorian pushed back with his own tongue, probing deep and tasting John's sweetness he'd detected earlier in the bar.

When they broke away, John asked breathily, "What happened to going slow?"

Dorian smiled and leaned his cheek onto John's shoulder. "I don't know," his voice was calm and serious, "You feel good to me."

John ran a hand up Dorian's back and felt the definition of his muscles. He felt power and strength that matched his own. Dorian lifted his head again, the lightning outside the window lighting up his face and catching his blue eyes, steady. They matched John's too, not in color, but in longing and sadness. In years of rough living, too many beers, and fear of rejection.

They kissed hungrily again. John felt Dorian's hand move south, his fingers dipping into the waist of his pants. "No," he panted, pulling Dorian's hand away, "I want to."

Dorian smiled as John sat up and threw the sheets back. His hand ran up the front of Dorian's cotton clad crotch and his eyes widened in surprise. John pulled at the fabric, releasing the other man's stiffened cock to the cool night air. Lightning flashed again, casting brightness through the blinds that lit up the gigantic organ.

John sputtered, gasping, worshiping at the altar of Dorian's body. He placed his hand around the base and Dorian moaned, pushing his hips up to fuck at John's hand. "Dee," he said, leaning in to lick up the side of the monster in his grip, at the top he pulled the head into his mouth and teased the opening with this tongue, enjoying the taste of the precum.

When he pulled his mouth off, he let the tip of his nose nudge into the head, inhaling the scent and feeling himself stiffen almost painfully against his shorts. The clean smell mixed with the earthy scent of Dorian's skin made his scalp prickle in anticipation.

He arranged himself better and drove himself over the head and down the shaft while Dorian found his hands gripping tight into the sheets. His fist stroking up the base and his other hand rolling the silky soft skin of Dorian's scrotum, John breathed through his nose and worked Dorian's flesh with devotion.

It had been too long and when John's eyes flashed up at him in the dark, shiny and watering from testing the limits of his reflexes, he bit out the words, "Goh-na cuh-ah-ahm."

John rolled his spine and waited, drawing the release into his mouth and swallowing even as more pulsed heavy against his cheek. He managed it all, and took his time to swallow while Dorian breathed himself down from the electricity between his legs.

John sat back onto his ass near the bottom of the bed and caught his breath too, his hand down his own pants and gasped softly as he came too quickly up over his fingers and into his pants.

Dorian hid his disappointment poorly and John grinned and slid up close to him, their lips connecting. "We have the whole day," John reassured as Dorian captured his hand and sucked at the slippery liquid on his fingers.

Another yawn overtook John and he turned around to press his back into Dorian's chest. Dorian snaked his arm around to rest on John's belly, pulling him in even closer.

They slept to the rocking shush of the rain on the roof and the occasional roll of thunder. Their heads heavy on their shared pillow but their minds lighter with the mutual understanding that the lonely nights were over.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to WeWillSpockYou for helping me pull out of my normal routine with these wonderful challenges!
> 
> And to NaughtyPastryChef who cheerleaded me on in this one. 
> 
> Are you tired of my love yet?


End file.
